The Chronicle of a Reformed Feminist Killjoy

Blindsided

blind side |ˈblaɪn(d) ˈˌsaɪd|

a direction in which a person has a poor view, typically of approaching danger:

verb( blindside ) [ with obj. ]

hit or attack (someone) on the blind side:

catch (someone) unprepared; attack from an unexpected position:

I grew up in the country.

I had a huge yard, a small field really, and about a mile of woods to all at my disposal, which was a godsend because I also had five siblings who constantly drove me insane.

Whenever I desperately needed a moment of clarity amidst the constant chaos that was my home life, I would either sneak out my bedroom window and sit on the roof; or I would slip outside, find my favorite climbing tree and disappear away into its highest bows.

One day, in my search for mental stability, I was scaling my favorite tree and I stepped on a weak branch.

I do not recollect the actual fall, only the impact moment where I struck the earth like a deadweight. I remember the sun was really bright and everything was quiet.

I was dazed.

The past few days have brought me back to those moments with spinning deja vu. Memories of the pain I felt, the shock and the feeling of not being sure how it happened or how I took such a wrong step without realizing it have permeated my mind.

In December I met a group of people through a friend I reconnected with.

Within this group was one person who we all thought was amazing.

Someone I loved dearly.

This person had his own idiosyncrasies and quirks but for the most part was a really amazing person. He was so amazing that, even when he was being a completely selfish asshole, we all would forgive him because we thought we knew the good he was capable of.

Apparently our friendship was standing, unassumingly, on an extremely unstable branch these past eight months, because I lay here dazed and confused once again.

I will not play a game of tit for tat, because no one is truly faultless in any kind of relationship, however we were all blindsided by the change of tune from this person.

Suddenly everyone who loved him and valued him was an enemy.

Maybe it’s a defense mechanism for something deeper, or maybe he really is a decayed, soulless human being and we were all fooled. Regardless, suppositions do not ease the hurt.

The day I fell out of that tree I just laid there.

I gave myself five minutes to just sit in the moment. I imagine it is like after a bomb goes off and you’re deaf and confused, just standing in that point in time, unsure of what to do next.

I think that’s where I am, just trying to absorb and make sense of all the confusion.

I was sore and bruised for days after I fell, and I know for myself and my close friends, that the next few weeks will be painful.

When you physically fall, bruises fade and pain subsides, but when you fall emotionally I think the healing process is far more arduous.

Walking around places where we all use to hangout, late night cigarettes, and for me, the lonely nights when it was nice just to have a friend to hold; those will be the times our bodies will ache most from the strain of trying to forget.

I eventually climbed that tree again.

However, forgiving an inanimate object for a cracked rib is much easier than acquitting someone who bruised your soul.